


Candles in the Dark

by Kelinswriter



Series: Valentine (Universe Three) [4]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelinswriter/pseuds/Kelinswriter
Summary: Alex can't understand why Maggie is suddenly all-in on the holidays.ForThelxiope. This one was a surprise, but I hope a good one. Happy Holidays.Part of Universe 3: the "Valentine" UniverseThank you as always toRoadiefor her invaluable thoughts and insight. And also for the birthday candles. ;)See end for spoilers/tw
Relationships: Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer, Sanvers
Series: Valentine (Universe Three) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635244
Comments: 23
Kudos: 99
Collections: Secret Sanvers | A Sanvers Winter Holiday 2020 Event





	Candles in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thelxiope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thelxiope/gifts).



It started the day after Thanksgiving.

Alex woke that morning tense and a little rough around the edges, not because she was hung over, but because she wasn’t. For the first time in her adult life she hadn’t spent Thanksgiving getting thoroughly smashed, and her body was making her pay for it. That’s what she got, she supposed, for being nearly six months pregnant on the most stressful day of the year. 

“We didn’t think this through at all,” she had hissed when Maggie handed over her umpteenth glass of sparkling apple-cranberry juice.

“Babe, if we had planned our children around your tequila consumption, we’d still be childless at eighty,” Maggie had replied, with a smug grin that made Alex want to both punch her wife and kiss her senseless. 

But Alex had survived the holiday, with the help of pumpkin pie and a whole lot of ginger ale. And even though she felt achy and tired and generally like crap, Alex was contented in the knowledge that she had gotten through yet another Thanksgiving with her relationship with her mother intact. It would, she hoped, be smooth sailing through Hanukkah and on into Christmas, and then they could get on to what Maggie liked to call “the fun holidays.”

Only this year, it seemed, Maggie had decided that Christmas was one of the fun holidays, too.

Maggie had insisted on nothing Christmas in the house before Thanksgiving. “Let’s let Turkey Day have its moment, Danvers,” she had said, and Alex, who had lived through years of Kara’s post-Halloween Christmas frenzy, had happily agreed. Plus, Maggie loved fall more than any other season, so it made sense that their new house had pumpkins on its porch and cinnamon spice candles burning at night. Maggie, who was enjoying their huge but tragically out-of-date kitchen far more than Alex ever could, had spent the last month baking squash and sweet potatoes on her nights off, and also could make, as it turned out, a mean green bean casserole. So though it was a little surprising, Alex was okay with Maggie’s sudden love for Thanksgiving, even if it did sometimes feel like she was going a little bit overboard. 

But now, literally overnight, their house had been transformed into some sort of Christmas wonderland. The cinnamon spice candles had been replaced by evergreen ones, and there were Christmas lights on the mantel where a string of fake fall leaves used to be. And — was that the smell of sugar cookies wafting from the kitchen?

“Oh, hey, Babe,” Maggie said as Alex, bleary eyed, blinked at the water stained, clearly well-traveled box of Christmas ornaments sitting next to their couch. “You want some breakfast?”

“Maggie?” Alex asked as Gertrude, roused from her nap, padded over and sniffed at her hand. “What’s happening here?”

“Since I don’t have to work I figured I’d get a jump on the decorating,” Maggie replied. She was wearing gray sweats and her favorite old green sweater with the sleeve that was half unraveled and her hair was pulled back in a messy bun and Alex thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. But she was also, at this moment, a bit terrifying. 

“Babe?” Maggie asked when Alex didn’t say anything. She set aside the ceramic snowman in her hand and walked over to Alex, her face lined with concern. “Sweetie, you feel okay?”

“I’m wondering if I should light one of those candles and put your hand over the flame to make sure you’re not a White Martian,” Alex said. She was, she realized, only half-joking.

“Because I’m decorating?” Maggie broke into a grin. “Please, Danvers. It’s our first Christmas in our new house and we have a baby on the way. We might as well have fun with it.” She put her hands on either side of Alex’s face, tugging her down into a quick kiss. Her lips, Alex realized, tasted like sugar cookies. “Come on, have breakfast with me.” 

She drew Alex into the kitchen and urged her into her usual chair, waving her off when Alex offered to help. “You look tired, Sweetie. Didn’t you sleep well?”

“It’s fine,” Alex replied, and heaved herself up long enough to let Gertrude, who was fussing at the back door like there was a stash of drugs on the other side, out into the back yard. “Just our girl rearranging my body however she wants so she has room to grow.” 

“She’s doing good,” Maggie said, her smile wistful, “and so are you.” 

They both danced around their first try, and the baby who had come and gone so quickly that they hadn’t even had time to tell anyone that Alex was pregnant. They were coming up on the first anniversary of the miscarriage, Alex realized, and she reached out to catch at Maggie’s hand as she walked over to place a bowl of sliced fruit on the table. 

“I love you,” Alex said, and Maggie leaned in for a kiss that was a slow caress. 

“Love you too,” Maggie rumbled, her voice throaty and warm, and then asked, “Eggs over or scrambled?” It sounded like a come on.

“Scrambled,” Alex replied, and squeezed Maggie’s hip. “And bacon.” 

“No bacon,” Maggie said, and Alex rolled her eyes, because the bacon they had wasn’t even real bacon, it was turkey bacon, for God’s sakes. But then Maggie turned and, with a wink, said, “But if you’re good I’ll let you have a cookie for dessert.”

“I am always happy to have your cookies for dessert,” Alex said as she sat back down, and Maggie snorted so hard that the egg she was cracking into the pan ended up all over the stove instead. 

“Oh, fuck,” she muttered, and then cast a sheepish glance at Alex’s stomach. “Sorry, baby girl.” 

Alex smoothed her hand over her swollen midriff and let out a soft laugh. “I think H—“ She caught herself just in time, avoiding the name _Hannah_ for fear of jinxing it. “Our little peanut will just have to get used to it.” 

“Well maybe, for now, we can distract her.” Maggie washed the egg slime off her hands and turned on the wireless speakers over the sink. She pressed a button on her phone, and music began to filter through the speakers. 

_“Have yourself a merry little Christmas,”_ a sultry voice crooned, and Alex tilted her head to the side, confused by why its sound called to mind late nights and clubs and a pounding dance beat. 

Then it clicked. “Is that Christina Aguilera?” 

Maggie nodded. “It’s my favorite version of this song.”

“Version?” Alex asked, startled, and Maggie, cracking the egg straight into the frying pan this time, looked over her shoulder.

“Yeah, version.” One corner of Maggie’s mouth lifted in a smile, showing off a shy hint of a dimple. “The thing about the classics is, everyone interprets them differently. The meaning changes over time.” 

“It just feels repetitive to me,” Alex replied, feeling irritated for reasons she couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the ache radiating from neck to the base of her spine, or maybe it was her rumbling stomach. Or maybe seeing a side of Maggie she hadn’t known existed was throwing her for a loop. 

She dove in, though some part of her — the part that wasn’t controlled by a whole lot of raging hormones, she suspected — warned that it was dumber than jumping off the side of a building. “How much Christmas music do you have, anyway?”

“As much as I want to have.” Maggie tossed the eggs around with the spatula, then turned and put two pieces of toast into the toaster. “We both have things lurking in our music libraries that neither of us know about.”

“I know but…” Alex felt the baby flutter against her hand and let out a low sigh. _“Versions?”_

“Get off my ass, Danvers. I like this song,” Maggie said, her tone slightly more gentle than a snap. Then, as if to prove her point, she hummed along under her breath while the scent of eggs and toast and sugar cookies wafted through the air. 

“Sorry,” Alex said, and heard the non-hormone part of her brain mutter _Told you you’d end up feeling like a dick._ “I’m really sorry, Babe. I got up on the wrong side of the bed today.” 

“Yeah, I got that.” Maggie dropped the spatula and walked over to Alex, her bare, ballerina feet both soundless and entrancing. She put her hands on either side of Alex’s shoulders and straddled Alex’s legs, carefully lowering herself until they were face to face. Alex’s hips and spine complained about Maggie’s weight at first, but then other, more internal voices took over and the whole thing became much more pleasant.

“What do you say we go back to bed for a while, and see if, when you get up again, it’s on a better side?” Maggie asked, in that soft, low voice that Alex knew was only for her. “And then later, we can go get our tree?”

Alex nodded, and then heard a crackle from the stove, one she had heard far too often in her own cooking misadventures. “Shit, Mags. I think the eggs are burning.”

Maggie threw a quick glance over her shoulder, and then turned back to Alex, one corner of her mouth quirked in a smile. “Let them burn,” she said, and pressed her lips to Alex’s collarbone. 

And Alex found she didn’t mind Christina Aguilera’s version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” so much anymore.

\--------------

“Babe!” Maggie shouted, and Alex, fresh out of the bathtub, pulled her robe tighter and walked into the living room. Or waddled, more accurately: there was a distinct waddle starting to develop about how she, and the baby who seemed to be multiplying in size by the second, conveyed from place to place. Alex was beginning to wonder if she’d need a cart before all this was over.

It was the week after Thanksgiving, and after much labor, mostly by Maggie, the inside of their house was fully decorated for both Hanukkah and Christmas. Alex had to admit that she enjoyed the lights and the warm glow it gave their living room, but the rest of it? Well, the rest of it, especially the somewhat cheesy ornaments Maggie had put all over the tree, just seemed to be taunting her with its holiday spirit.

Alex had no holiday spirit. Alex just wanted to get through the day without having to worry that every ache or pain she felt was the start of a wicked case of indigestion.

But Maggie was so happy about the decoration explosion, and Kara had signaled her approval, too. She’d dropped by to check in on Alex during a work-from-home day not that long ago, taken one look at the decorations, and become so excited that her feet lifted off the ground. Alex hadn’t had the heart to say that all this holiday fuss was overwhelming; not when her sister and her wife were both taking so much joy from pine needles and twinkle lights and the menorah with its honored place on one corner of their fireplace. Not when she knew that Kara and Lena were going through a rough patch, or that Maggie was busting her ass to close cases so she could take her parental leave with a clear conscience, or that Eliza and J’onn were both desperately excited to be grandparents for the first time. Hell, even Cat Grant was checking in periodically, sending emails from who knew where and asking if Alex was eating enough kale or if her chakras were in balance.

Her chakras were just fine, thank you very much. And Cat Grant could stick her kale right where the sun didn’t —

“Babe!” Maggie called out again, and Alex realized her voice was coming from the other side of an open window. 

Alex followed the sound to their front porch, where Maggie had been puttering since she’d left their bed. Alex had been hearing grunts and occasional bangs and lots of barking from Gertrude ever since. After one particularly loud clatter, Alex had tried to go outside and find out what was going on. 

“I want this to be a surprise,” Maggie had said as she body blocked Alex from going out the door. “It’s fine, Danvers. Go finish your paperwork.”

And Alex had mouthed something she didn’t want their baby to hear, because paperwork was pretty much all she could do now that she was on restricted duty. For a while she’d been calling incidents from ops, but Lucy, who had been assigned as their military liaison after a recent promotion, had been easing her out of that role. Alex understood why; Lucy’s job was to keep the DEO running smoothly while its director was away, and that required a comprehensive understanding of how her team would respond under stress. But the way she was so seamlessly absorbing her interim director duties was making Alex paranoid. 

All of that, Alex reminded herself, was a problem for after the baby was born. Shrugging off her work worries, she ducked her head out the front door. Maggie was standing on their porch steps in jeans and a flannel, with her hair in a messy ponytail. She was squinting up at their roofline, one hand lifted to block out the bright winter sun.

“What’s up?” Alex asked, pulling her robe more fully around her as the wind threatened to blow it open. 

“Oh, hey,” Maggie said, and looked at Alex, her face creasing in a dazzling smile. “It’s ready. Come see.”

“Let me…” Alex pointed at her robe, and Maggie, laughing, urged her inside. Alex waddled back to her bedroom — there was no way around it, it was a waddle now — and pulled on sweats and a hoodie. It took way more effort than it should have to tie her shoelaces, and she brushed her hand across her growing belly, murmuring, “You’re going to cost me a lot of sit-ups once you’re out, little one.” She felt a brief flutter in response and smiled, her excitement at finally seeing their little girl mingling with a hint of sadness that the closeness they now shared would be lost once the baby was born. But at least she would have her abs back. 

Alex returned to the front door and walked onto the porch, tucking her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie. “What do you have to show me?”

“Just one second,” Maggie said, and climbed down from the ladder that was propped up next to the porch steps. She lifted it and hefted it toward the side of the house, then ran back, reaching out one hand. “Come with me.”

Alex took Maggie’s hand and walked down the steps, and Maggie led her several feet down the sidewalk while Gertrude ran circles around them both. They were a few feet from the curb when Maggie said, “Okay, now you can turn around.”

Alex did, and felt Maggie squeeze her hand as Alex took in the sight of the white icicle lights that now dangled from the roofline of their porch and wound around the thick circular columns that flanked either side of the steps. They were wrapped around the railings too, and Alex knew that, at night, they would give the house an ethereal glow.

“It’s lovely,” Alex said, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew it was a lackluster response. Babbling beckoned, but she checked that impulse, opting instead for something that felt supportive but not overly gushing. “Babe, you spent hours doing this, and it looks so good. I’m really proud of you.”

“But?” Maggie said, looking sidelong at her with a suspicious gleam in her eye. Alex’s lack of enthusiasm, it seemed, had been noted. 

“But it’s —“ Alex looked at the front façade of their tiny cream-colored bungalow, now covered in lights, and wondered why she was struggling to feel happy about this when Maggie was so clearly delighted. “I guess I’m just…confused.”

“About holiday lights?” Maggie gestured around their neighborhood, already fully decorated, in some cases so lavishly that it would have put Clark Griswold to shame. “I thought we agreed on just white lights for the front of the house.”

“Yeah, and they look great, it’s not that. It’s…” Alex bit the inside of her lip, gnawing at it until, finally, she found the right words. “I guess I just didn’t realize you were this into the holidays.” 

“Well, we never really had the room to decorate before, and we were always spending them at your sister’s and mom’s anyway.” Maggie looked back at the house, a tightness in her face that Alex knew meant she was trying to hide that she was upset, and said, “I just thought it would be fun to do a few more things now that we have our own space.” 

“It is,” Alex said, and added, “fun, I mean,” and Maggie tilted her head, like she always did when she knew Alex was lying. 

“Anyway, I have to finish up,” Maggie said, and squeezed Alex’s hand before pulling away. “It’ll look better once it’s dark out.” 

“Maybe we can go for a walk tonight and look at everyone’s lights,” Alex offered, and Maggie, hearing the conciliation in the words, smiled. 

“I’m covering night shift for McConnell, remember?” Maggie said, and Alex felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, because of course Maggie was picking up yet another extra shift on top of killing herself to make their first holiday season in their new house a special one. Alex wanted to say that Maggie didn’t have to keep trying so hard; that all that mattered was that they were together. But the words kept sticking on her tongue.

She talked to her mother about it after Maggie left for work and she was sitting alone in their living room with a fire in the fireplace and Gertrude curled up at her feet. “I don’t get it, Mom. When Maggie and I first met, she hated holidays. And now, it’s like she’s been possessed by — well — _Kara._ If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was some sort of alien virus at work.”

“It’s nothing so exotic,” Eliza said with a chuckle. “She’s just feathering your nest.”

“Well could she feather it with a few less twinkle lights?” Alex asked. “Because it’s running up our electric bill.”

“You always were one to thumb your nose at traditions,” Eliza said, and Alex felt the tart comment settle like a dart near her heart.

“I’m half-Jewish, a little Buddhist, and a disillusioned Episcopalian everywhere else. What did you expect would happen?” Alex pointed out, hoping her mother wouldn’t hear how much the observation had stung.

But Eliza must have realized, for she let out a low, resigned sigh. “I suppose your father and I did set you up for that. Both of us were half-Jewish and half something else, and the stress of being mixed religion made us leery of any sort of holiday fuss. In fact, we never even put up a tree until you came home from kindergarten and asked us why we didn’t have one.”

“That was a great way to blackmail you into my first chemistry set,” Alex said, remembering how she had badgered both her parents, and especially her dad, until their house was decorated just like Vicki Donahue's.

“And your first telescope, and remember that whole iMac phase?” Eliza let out a knowing laugh. “The point is that anything we did was out of a sense of conformity more than any real feeling for the tinsel and glitter. It wasn’t until after Kara came to live with us, and she seemed to love the holidays so, that we got serious about it. And then once your father was gone…”

Eliza trailed off, and Alex felt the silence settle like a weight between them. She sensed that the more she dug into her cranky attitude about the holidays, the more she would unearth the hurt of not just losing her father, but of Kara’s arrival making her feel as if she’d lost her place in the sun. 

But she was a grown woman now, with a child of her own on the way, and it was time she got her head out of her ass and stopped living down to her mother’s expectations. So she cleared her throat and took a breath, saying, “Okay, you’ve been through this and I haven’t. Tell me what it is I’m not seeing.”

“Maggie’s in a different place than you are with this baby, Alex,” Eliza said, in that gently teasing, slightly professorial tone that she always took on when she was pointing out the obvious. “I don’t want to trivialize the situation by playing down to some tired ‘mom vs. dad’ gender stereotype, because you’re both going to be a mother to this child in every way that matters. But she’s not carrying the baby. You are.”

“So she’s acting like one of Santa’s elves because I’m knocked up and she’s not?” Her mother hummed an assent into the phone, and Alex followed with, “Did Dad act this way too?”

“He wouldn’t stop painting,” Eliza said, in a fondly rueful tone that, Alex sensed, was time coloring over just how annoyed her mother had been. “Not just the nursery, but the living room, the kitchen, and two bathrooms. I had to put my foot down to stop him from redoing the exterior of the house, too.” 

“But at least Dad’s painting obsession had a useful outcome,” Alex pointed out. “These decorations won’t even be up anymore when the baby comes in March and…” She paused, a terrible thought suddenly running through her mind. “Mom, you’re not saying Maggie’s about to become one of those people who keeps the decorations up all year, are you?”

“Oh, Alex,” Eliza said with a chuckle. “You have so much going on in your brain and body right now, and as much as Maggie is trying to help you through that, it’s happening to you, not her. She will always be, on some level, on the outside looking in. So she’s trying to manage that stress as best she can.”

“By making our house look like the holiday fairy threw up all over it?” Alex asked, and her mother laughed again.

“By giving you and the baby the safest, happiest place she can imagine for all of you to start your life together,” Eliza said. “Someplace that, to her, feels like home.”

“I guess I’m just confused because this was not how Maggie operated back when we first met,” Alex replied, and thought back on how her wife, the quintessential lone wolf, had resisted altering her holiday patterns even after they'd gotten together. “She’d work overtime on every holiday just to avoid getting a dinner invite. And don’t get me started on the drama our first Valentine’s Day caused.”

“People change when they’re having a child,” Eliza said, and Alex heard not just wisdom in her mother’s voice, but a bit of a warning too. “Maybe this new fondness for the holidays is a part of how Maggie is changing.”

“And to think just one year ago, I was married to a badass who once took down a flying dinosaur,” Alex grumbled.

A knowing hum reverberated over the line. “It’s Maggie,” Eliza said. “I’m pretty sure she’s still capable of doing that, too.” 

\-------

Alex awoke in the darkness, her heart pounding, her hands shaking. Drowning, it was the drowning dream again, and she sucked in a careful, deep breath, part of her not yet trusting that she wouldn’t feel the thick, caustic burn of water flooding into her lungs.

But all that came in was air; sweet, safe, blissfully ordinary air. And she wasn’t in the tank, but in her bed, in her new house with Maggie, on a quiet winter morning.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling a tentative kick in response, as if the baby was checking in just to make sure everything was all right. Seemingly reassured, the little tyrant wriggled around a bit before settling, quite comfortably, against Alex’s bladder.

 _Of course,_ Alex thought, and rolled out of bed, looking down at Maggie as she slept her way through the early morning gloom. It was still near dark thanks to the late rising winter sun and their bedroom’s location on the west side of their house. Maybe, Alex thought, after she was done in the bathroom, she would wrap up in a sweater and watch the sun come up over the downtown high rises that, on clear days, were visible from their front porch. 

But when she emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, she could see Maggie peering at her with sleepy eyes. “You okay?”

“Just a dream,” Alex said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Too dismissive, apparently, because Maggie’s brow furrowed.

“A dream?” Maggie asked, her voice, rough with sleep, like gravel over silk. “Or _the_ dream?”

“How?” Alex asked, resigned, and Maggie just shrugged and opened her arms. Alex levered herself back onto the bed, sliding her bulk across the mattress until Maggie was molded against her back. They took a moment to shift and settle, and Alex let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. 

“That dream pops up when you’re apprehensive about something,” Maggie said into Alex’s shoulder. “And the sonogram is next week.”

“Oh, that.” Maggie’s hand was pressed over the baby bump, and Alex pressed her own atop it, like they were cradling their daughter together. “I’m nervous, but everything’s going to be fine this time. Everything _is_ fine this time.”

“It is.” Maggie nuzzled her nose into the back of Alex’s neck and they were quiet for a while, each drifting silently in their own thoughts and the shared warmth of their bed. Then Maggie said, “Text me later to remind me to buy new candles, will you?”

Alex let out a snort. “I can’t believe you used full sized candles. What a rookie mistake.” 

“I didn’t know,” Maggie replied, her words a plaintive whine, and Alex laughed, low in her chest, at the memory of her own consternation when she realized the candles Maggie had put in their menorah would take hours to burn. She’d turned on the ceiling fan in hopes they would go out, but the stubborn things just flickered and kept going until nearly midnight. _I’ll stay up and watch,_ Maggie had murmured, drawing Alex’s head down into her lap, and Alex had drifted off to sleep, not unpleasantly, with the flames dancing behind her eyelids and the feel of Maggie’s fingers brushing through her hair. 

“Just don’t get beeswax, it burns really slow,” Alex said, and felt Maggie nod against her shoulder. “Birthday candles work great, actually. I’d go with those.” 

Maggie chuckled. “Worked all the angles, haven’t you?”

“My dad loved scandalizing Nana Rachel.” Alex eased back into Maggie’s warmth and felt Maggie press even tighter against her. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Maggie asked, in a soft, still sleepy husk.

“For knowing I didn’t want to talk about the dream or the sonogram.” Alex took a breath and let free some of the gratitude she’d been hoarding, for reasons she still couldn’t explain, over these last weeks. “And thank you for everything you’ve been doing with the house to get ready for the baby. I know I haven’t always been as grateful as I should be.”

“You’ve been fine,” Maggie murmured, with more generosity than was warranted, because Alex had not, in fact, been fine. She’d been, if she was being honest, a fucking Grinch, and Maggie was being way more selfless than she should be about absorbing it without snapping back. Not for the first time, Alex was reminded of just how lucky she was to have crossed paths with Maggie Sawyer on a crisp fall morning five years ago. Especially when —

She felt the hand that had been smoothing up and down her belly suddenly, and without much fanfare, slip under the waistband of her shorts.

“Babe?” she asked, the rest of the question in her tone.

“Mmmm?” Maggie replied, and Alex drew in a breath as Maggie’s fingers dipped lower. 

“What are you…um…what are you…” Alex shifted her legs, and Maggie kissed her shoulder just above the collar of her sleep shirt. 

“Consider it anxiety relief,” Maggie said, and Alex laughed, and gripped the edge of the mattress, and then fell silent save for a few encouraging murmurs while pleasure built inside her like the slow rise of the tide. It flowed and flooded over her, and then gently receded, leaving her to drift in a sleepy afterglow. She lingered there until Maggie stirred behind her, and Alex caught at her hand to keep her from pulling away. 

“Sweetie, I have to get up,” Maggie murmured, an apology in her tone.

“You’ve got a few minutes,” Alex said, after a swift glance at the clock. “And I can be quick.”

She rolled onto her back, and Maggie, scooting toward the side of the bed to make room, pushed onto her knees. “Where do you want me?” she asked with a cocky grin. 

“Hands on the headboard, rest of you here,” Alex replied, waving a hand in front of her face, and watched that smirk shift, in an instant, to a mix of pure carnal desire and stunned disbelief. “What, you think just because I’m pregnant that I’ve forgotten how?”

“No, I’m thinking that’s one hell of a workout for 6:15 in the morning,” Maggie said, and then let out a groan when Alex’s hand slipped into her shorts, her fingers mimicking Maggie’s movements from earlier. “Jesus, Danvers.”

“Turnabout is fair play,” Alex said, and then added, as Maggie twitched against her fingers, “Besides, isn’t it abs day?”

“It is,” Maggie breathed. “It is, it is…oh…abs day. You, uh, do have a point there.”

“Then come here,” Alex murmured, and drew Maggie down, and gave her the abs workout of her life.

\-------------------

The glow couldn’t last, of course. The next day Alex woke up cranky, and sore, and the dream, that fucking dream again. And this time when she woke Maggie was already gone, with a note saying she’d been called in on a case and that she hoped Alex would have a good day. But Alex didn’t have a good day, she had a day that was entire shit, filled with pointless meetings where nothing got accomplished and security reports full of vague rumors of some large-scale plans by one of the many hate groups that had arisen out of Agent Liberty’s supporters. But there was nothing concrete, and no clear way to track them, and so the infection was left to fester in ways that, Alex was fairly sure, would come back to haunt her later down the line.

And then Maggie came home from work with a trunk full of groceries and turned on her damned holiday playlist, and Alex lost it.

“Couldn’t we have one night without that damn music, or lights, or tinsel or any of this other crap?” she snapped. “I’m so sick of this, Maggie, all of it. I just want these stupid holidays over so things can go back to _normal.”_

Maggie froze, a package of fresh asparagus still clutched in her hand. Her face, usually so animated, was strangely fixed, like she had dropped a wall down over her features. There was something so childlike, Alex thought, about the way Maggie would retreat when she felt she’d been caught doing something wrong. 

“I didn’t think it was…” Maggie trailed off, as remorse, and then chagrin, skittered across her features. “Of course,” she said then, and walked over to her phone, stabbing one finger down onto the screen. 

_“The first noel, the angel did say, was to —“_ severed as abruptly as a comm cutting out in a firefight, and with the same jarring sense of dislocation. Maggie looked over at Alex in the sudden silence that followed, and then she set the asparagus on the counter with care, as if that plastic-wrapped handful of vegetable stalks might explode on impact.

“I think maybe I’ll just go work in the backyard for a bit before the sun goes down,” Maggie said, and Alex felt her anger dissipate, as something else — a bitter cocktail made from one part shame, three parts guilt —bubbled to the surface. 

“Maggie, it’s — “ Alex started to say, but Maggie cut her off with one sharp shake of her head. 

“No, it’s okay, Alex. I should have known better.” Maggie drew an oversized gray hoodie off the coat rack and pulled it on. “I’ll sautée the asparagus later with the salmon I brought, and then we can light the menorah.” She reached for the doorknob and threw over her shoulder, “Or not. Whatever you want.”

She was out the door, with Gertrude eager at her heels, before Alex could say anything else, and Alex lowered her head into her hands when she heard the door click shut. “Dammit,” she murmured, and sat there for a minute, hearing the muffled sound of a rake scraping through grass come faintly through the kitchen window. It was a lousy time to be raking; the yard was damp, and Alex knew without even looking that Maggie was probably making little progress on the scattered carpet of red and gold leaves that covered over what would, if all went well next spring, be their garden. But Maggie’s default retreat when she was emotionally unsettled was physical labor, and Alex knew that, for a little while at least, it was best to leave her alone. 

Alex tried, as best she could, to make things better. She put away the rest of the groceries and got out the pans that would be needed to make their dinner. She set the table and lit a candle in the center, and was just about to go outside and call Maggie in when Maggie, her cheeks red from the cold, came inside. 

“Do you want a Scotch?” Alex asked, and Maggie just nodded, something shadowed in her eyes, as she washed her hands and set about making their meal. 

“Thank you,” Alex said when Maggie set her plate of salmon, asparagus, and brown rice down on the table. “I feel bad, Mags. You shouldn’t have to do all the cooking right now, on top of everything else.”

“You might want to master eggs before you move on to salmon,” Maggie teased, but the smile on her face didn’t quite reach her eyes. She glanced over at her phone, still on the counter, and Alex knew she was thinking about turning on music, as they so often did on nights when they were able to eat dinner together. But Maggie sat down and took a sip of her Scotch instead. 

Alex took a bite of her salmon, feeling Maggie’s eyes on her as she did. “It’s good,” she said, and looked over at Maggie, trying to convey everything else she wanted to say in one earnest glance. _I’m sorry your enthusiasm for the holidays is making me crazy. I love our life together and our baby that’s on the way and I wish I wasn’t screwed up and confused and could be there for you like you’ve been for me._

If Maggie saw all that, she didn’t acknowledge it, though she did, tersely, accept the compliment on her cooking. “It’s the herbed lemon butter,” she said, and ate the rest of her meal without further comment. 

It was the fourth night of Hanukkah, and Alex lit the candles, and said the words, and then sat with Maggie, on opposite sides of the couch, while they watched them burn. It took just over a half hour, and when the last one flickered out Maggie got up and, with a quiet, “Goodnight, Danvers,” kissed Alex on the forehead. 

Then she went to bed. 

\------------------

The next morning, the house was quiet without the constant stream of music from Maggie’s playlist, and at first, Alex felt relief. But soon she began to hear something anxious in the silence, and though Maggie kissed her goodbye when she left for work, something about that made Alex feel anxious, too. 

The argument wasn’t the problem; they’d had plenty of fights before, and though things might be tender for a bit, Alex had no doubt that they would find a way through. It took her till lunch to realize that what bothered her was Maggie’s eyes. They’d been incandescent since she’d started decorating the house, but now that sparkle was — well, not gone, exactly, but quelled. The Kara-like exuberance that had been driving Alex crazy for weeks was tempered now, by something a bit like melancholy.

How like her, Alex thought, to now miss the very thing that had been making her most irritable.

It nagged at the back of her mind through yet another day of tedious Zoom calls, distracting her at key moments during a squadron realignment meeting that had been on her calendar for weeks. 

“Alex, is something going on? Do you need to take the day?” Lucy asked after the third time they had to reshuffle the squad assignments because Alex had missed something in her notes. 

“No, I’m just a flake today,” Alex said, feeling herself wither under Lucy’s piercing gaze. “The baby is stealing my brain cells for her own, I guess.”

“Well please tell her to give them back, Director, because I need you focused,” Lucy said, with her usual blunt efficiency.

It was enough to cut through Alex’s myopia, and she managed to get a good amount of work done that afternoon. Then, just before dinner, Maggie texted to say she had caught a case and wouldn’t be home till well past dinner, and Alex felt the demons come out to play again. 

She opened the refrigerator, staring at the mixture of leftovers that could be used to cobble together a meal for one. Then she let the door fall shut and picked up her phone. “Can I come over?”

“I’ll be home by 6:30,” Kara said, and so Alex arrived at 6:35. 

“Busy day?” she asked as Kara whirled into her room while still in her work clothes and whirled out, an eye blink later, in pajama pants and a hoodie. She sat down on the couch to pull on a pair of thick, reindeer-patterned socks, and then flicked on the lights of her enormous tree.

“There was a train derailment up near Modesto, so I had to take care of that between interviews for our new stringer,” Kara said as she glided over to the kitchen. She pulled the takeout menus off the refrigerator and fanned them out in front of Alex. “Preferences?”

“Ugh, don’t make me miss sushi any more than I already do,” Alex said, and threw the Japanese menu toward the other side of the room. She hovered between the Chinese and Italian options before decisively jamming her forefinger down on the latter. “I need cheese tonight.”

Kara grinned. “Manicotti it is.” 

Kara placed the order, and then they moved over to the couch. A table had been set up next to the tree with both a menorah and the ritual candleholders from Kara’s own Kryptonian religious practice. She lit the menorah first, and together they said the prayer in Hebrew. Then Kara lit the candle to Rao and said a second prayer, this time in Kryptonese.

She kept her head bowed for a moment after it was done, and Alex smiled at the expression of peace on her sister’s face. She sat back then and looked at Alex, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “So what’s going on?” 

“Can’t I just want to spend an evening with my sister?” Alex asked, and felt the baby kick against her stomach. It felt, Alex thought, like her own kid was calling her out on the lie. 

“Well, I talked to Eliza, for one, and also Nia saw Maggie at a crime scene earlier today and said she looked like someone had just kicked her puppy.” Kara sucked in an anxious breath. “Oh, Rao. Nothing happened to Gertrude, right?”

“Gertrude is in the back yard, either terrorizing squirrels or cuddled up in her dog bed,” Alex said, and Kara let out a relieved sigh.

“Thank goodness. I couldn’t handle it if something happened to that dog.” Kara sank back on the couch and grabbed a pillow, puling it into her stomach. “So what’s going on? Did you and Maggie have a fight?”

“It’s so dumb, really,” Alex said, and then explained the last few weeks; how strange Maggie’s enthusiasm for the holidays had seemed, and how it had set her own nerves on edge until, finally, it exploded. 

“And I just don’t get it, Kara,” Alex said as she ended her tale. “I feel like I’m taking something away from her, but I never even knew it mattered.”

“There’s no way you could have, if she never told you.” Kara squeezed Alex’s arm and then turned to look over at the menorah, and beside it, the ritual flame she had lit in honor of Rao. “Do you remember my first holiday season here?”

“Remember?” Alex shuddered in horror at the memory. “How could I forget? You kept sneaking downstairs to stare at the Christmas tree and then lit so many candles you almost set the house on fire.” 

“I just wanted to look at the lights!” Kara exclaimed, in that same whiny voice that she always used when she tried to explain away how she had nearly burned them all in their beds. Her next words, however, were softer, and tempered by maturity. “All those years that I was in that pod, all I could see was stars, like tiny, flickering lights.” 

There was pain on Kara’s face; an old pain, and one that Alex only caught glimpses of now that Kara was able to visit Alura in Argo City from time to time. But even finding the last survivors of Krypton had not entirely taken it away. 

“I would look at those lights twinkling against that blackness and think _somewhere out there is a place that’s safe for me."_ Kara reached for Alex’s hand and said, “And eventually I found it with you and Eliza and Jeremiah.” She paused and added, teasingly, “Well, with them anyway. You I wasn’t so sure of.”

“You try to run someone over with a car one time…” Alex joked, and Kara lifted a pillow, threatening to throw it at her. Alex, laughing, pointed at her baby bump, and Kara sighed and bopped her on the head with it instead.

“The point is, it didn’t happen automatically,” Kara continued, the candlelight giving her face a golden glow. “I still felt like I was trapped in that pod for the longest time. But then the holidays came, and there were lights everywhere: lights in the menorah, lights on Christmas trees. A whole month of days dedicated to celebrating light.” She gestured toward the still-flickering candle to Rao alongside the menorah. “On Krypton, Rao gave us the light that allowed us to thrive, but we squandered it, and I was exiled into darkness. But then I came to Earth and people celebrated the light here too. It made me feel like maybe I didn’t have to be afraid of the dark anymore.”

“I’m glad that we could give you that,” Alex said, and reached over to squeeze her sister’s hand. Kara smiled at her, and Alex felt that trust, steady and true, that she knew she could always count on, no matter the situation. She sank back into the couch, pulling the pillow tight against her stomach. “I just wish there was as simple an explanation for why Maggie is suddenly obsessed with the holidays. It makes no sense.” 

“I think it makes perfect sense,” Kara said, and Alex saw the _Oh, come on, Alex_ expression on her sister’s face.

“First Mom, now you,” Alex huffed. “If you’ve got some secret insight into my marriage that I’ve been missing, would you just spit it out?”

There was a knock on the door then, and Kara, grateful at the interruption, got up to answer. She paid for their food and then set the takeout bags on the table, pulling the cartons of manicotti and lasagna and spaghetti Bolognese out one by one. Alex went to the cupboards and retrieved their plates and silverware, bringing both over and passing one set of each to Kara. Alex could tell by the crinkle on Kara's forehead that she was thinking hard on something. 

“Alex,” Kara said, as she began forking large helpings of food onto her plate, “did it ever occur to you how alike Maggie and I are?” 

“No,” Alex said flatly, and Kara laughed at the certainty in her voice. “Until she went nuts over holiday decorations, I never once thought of you and Maggie as even the slightest bit alike.”

“But we are,” Kara said, and then, a bit shyly, “I’ve never really talked to her about it because I didn’t want to bring up bad stuff for her, but we are alike, Alex, way more than you realize. We both got sent away by our parents when we were barely more than little kids. And yeah, maybe mine did it to save my life and hers did it because they were big homophobes, but they still sent us away. And we both spent years on our own before we finally found another home.”

“But Maggie did with me,” Alex said, remembering Maggie’s wedding vows, and the words she had said with such certainty: _Your family is my family._ “And not just me. You, Mom, J’onn, Lena, Winn — we’re as real a family as anything she had growing up.” 

“And maybe that’s why she wants to go all in on the holidays now,” Kara said, and then pushed the takeout bags aside to make a space for them both to eat. She sat down on one side of the table, waiting for Alex to take the other, and said, “Maybe she never hated them at all, Alex. Maybe she loved them, but it hurt too much to celebrate. And now it doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

“Oh,” Alex said, and then paused, a forkful of manicotti halfway to her mouth, as understanding dawned. _“Oh.”_

She thought then about the little Maggie had told her about her own childhood Christmases. There hadn’t been a lot, really; offhand comments about going with her dad to pick out a tree, and how she and her mother would sing holiday songs while they baked and decorated. 

“My abuela used to give me a new ornament every year, and sometimes she made them herself,” Maggie had said once when they were deep in a bottle of brandy on their second Christmas together. “So that was always special, and the music, and the lights. I just really liked the lights.”

“She’s trying to find her place in the stars,” Alex murmured, and pressed a hand to her abdomen. She felt an answering flutter from inside her, as if the baby was saying, _Finally, Mom, you got it._ “Like you did, Kara. All that time you were alone, and you finally found your safe place with us.”

“We all just want to feel safe, like we did before we knew the world was an awful place,” Kara said, and turned as, with a sudden bright flicker, the candle to Rao guttered and then burned itself out. “We’re all just frightened people lighting candles to ward off the dark.”

\--------------

It was late when Alex got home. 

The Christmas lights on the front of the house were on, but the windows, save for a faint glow from the living room, were dark. Alex pulled in the garage, parking the SUV they’d bought in preparation for their baby girl’s arrival. Their bikes sat on the opposite side, looking slightly forlorn, while Maggie’s Charger was parked in the driveway behind. 

Everything was quiet. Too quiet.

Alex hit the switch to close the garage and exited through the side door that led into the back yard. She paused for a moment, tilting her head back to look at the stars sprinkled above her in that clear, moonless sky. So many of them were lost in the glow of the city lights, but she could make out the constellation of Orion, and Sirius, the Dog Star, and then just a little further over, red-tinged Rao. There would have been so many more visible from Kara’s pod, Alex thought, and so many more, too, in Nebraska’s night sky.

Alex walked up the steps that led to the back door and found it unlocked. The kitchen was dark save for the nightlight they kept burning next to the sink, but there was a soft glow emanating from the living room that could only be the Christmas tree.

Alex slipped off her coat and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair, then walked into the living room and took in the tableau: the Christmas tree, with its panoply of multicolored lights, and the fireplace flickering low. Gertrude was curled up in front of the fire in what, since the weather had grown cooler, had become her new favorite spot. Maggie, meanwhile, was kneeling next to the dog with a cardboard box on her opposite side. She was, Alex realized, removing the ornaments from the tree. 

Gertie noticed Alex first, and her tail thumped in welcome. She seemed forlorn though, and she looked first at Alex, then at Maggie, and then back at Alex again, as if to say, _Hello, Human. Something’s not right._

Alex nodded and crept forward, rounding the couch just as Maggie looked up. There were tears on her face.

“Hey,” Alex said, and caught at the arm of the couch, leveraging down onto her knees in what, had she not been carrying a tiny person along for the ride, would have been a single smooth motion. “Hey, hey, no. No no no no no.”

She took Maggie’s face between her hands, her thumbs wiping the tears away, and Maggie let go of the ornament she had been holding, turning just enough that she could put one hand on Alex’s waist. The other wrapped around Alex’s back, and Alex drew her wife in, pulling her close until their foreheads touched. She closed her eyes, waiting until she felt those tiny signs that Maggie was calmer, that whatever quiet storm was rolling through her had passed enough that the could engage again.

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispered. “I have been mean and grouchy and I’m scared, Mags, I’m so scared because we just can’t lose this girl. But that’s no reason to take it out on you.”

“No, Alex, you didn’t, it was me, it was all me,” Maggie said, something so fragile in her voice, and Alex pulled her closer, pulled her tight, until that clenched thing within her, that thing she’d been holding back, loosened. After that, Alex’s only job was to hold on until the big storm that had been waiting behind the little one had time to blow through.

When it passed, Maggie sagged, and Alex did too, and somehow the two of them ended up tangled up on their sides in front of the fireplace. Gertie chuffed and then delicately climbed over both of them, stalking across the living room floor until, with a thump, she settled on her bed in the far corner next to the TV. 

“I guess we just got told,” Alex said. 

Maggie laughed, the sound thick and wet and still filled with emotion. “Yeah. I guess we did.” 

“So talk to me,” Alex murmured, her forehead still pressed against Maggie’s. She moved her thumb back and forth, and then back and forth again, until Maggie, her eyes flicking upward, started to speak.

“The ornaments,” she said. “Did you ever really look at them?”

“No,” Alex replied. “I was too busy with the job and with life and…” She blew out a breath. “No. I didn’t.”

“It’s okay.” Maggie’s hand caressed Alex’s side, and then she pressed her palm, gently, against Alex’s baby bump on the right side. The kid seemed to feel it, for Alex felt a little kick right there. Or maybe a punch.

“Tía sent the ornaments,” Maggie said, “after I told her that we were having a baby. She’d been keeping them for a while, as a keepsake for me, and…”

She trailed off, and Alex glanced up, realizing then that the handwriting on the battered box that Maggie had been filling was not her own. “And?” she asked, nodding that Maggie should continue on.

“And Tía stole them,” Maggie said, and then laughed, though Alex could hear something close to despair amid the humor. “Every year, she went to my parents’ house for Christmas Eve, and every year she stole a couple ornaments. Most of the the ones she took used to be mine, but one year she got really bold and took Mamá’s favorite, just for spite.”

“As she should,” Alex said with a grin. “Your mom doesn’t deserve it, especially if Rafa made it for her.” 

Maggie smiled at the mention of her beloved abuela, and Alex soothed her hand along Maggie’s spine, hoping it would provide an extra dose of reassurance that the holidays, no matter how much they might rankle, would never come between them again. Maggie sighed into the touch, and Alex took that as her signal to ask the next question. “Baby, if you love these ornaments so much, then why put them away?” 

Maggie’s eyes flicked up to hers, brown meeting brown, and Alex saw all the uncertainty that Kara had talked about. The loneliness. The unfathomable pain.

“Just because I love something doesn’t mean it’s right for us.” Maggie dropped her lashes, and Alex saw contrition hidden in the absence of her gaze. “Alex, these ornaments are about my past, but it’s not right for me to bring that into our present. Not when your experience of the holidays, including what you celebrate, is so much different than mine. And I...”

Alex slid her hands up Maggie’s shoulders, threading them into her hair. “You?” she prompted.

“I don’t…” Maggie let out a sigh. “I don’t want how I was raised, or what my expectations of the holidays should be, to be a burden on you or us.” She tilted her head toward the box and, beyond it, the Christmas tree. “Just because my aunt sent me a box of ornaments doesn’t mean they have to be out where everyone can see.” 

And Alex could hear the subtext hiding behind Maggie’s words, the thing that, a good percentage of the time, was what got them hung up: That Maggie, who believed so fiercely that Alex deserved a full, rich, happy life, didn’t quite believe the same thing for herself. That she was always, in some secret corner of her mind, waiting for the rug to get pulled out from underneath her. 

They’d worked on it, both separately and together; even gone to therapy once or twice to try to work it through. And every time, Alex walked away wanting to kick the shit out of the people who had left little Margarita Rodas standing on the side of a road with a suitcase in the snow, wondering why it was so easy to throw her away. 

Alex leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Maggie’s cheek, and then she pushed up on one elbow, gesturing for Maggie to sit up as well. The baby in Alex’s belly made it complicated, though, and Maggie ended up having to help her into an upright position. Alex let out a huff of annoyance and then turned, reaching into the box sitting in front of the tree. 

“Tell me about this one,” she said, and drew out an angel made of purple glass. It was cheap, and one of its wings had broken off, but Maggie smiled to see it.

“My third grade teacher gave it to me,” Maggie said. “Mrs. Kwiatkoski. She said I was her angel because I always got my homework done on time.” 

“Well you are very punctual,” Alex said, and Maggie let out a laugh, one that sounded like she’d been holding her breath for days. 

Alex pulled out another ornament then: a Santa Claus carved from wood, with a long white beard. His features, she noted, were decidedly Hispanic. 

“That was one of Rafa’s,” Maggie said, and her eyes, Alex saw, were misting with tears. “A man from her church who did woodworking carved it, and then she painted it.” She sounded very young when she said, “It was the last one she gave me before she died.”

“I would call that a family heirloom,” Alex said, and hooked the frayed white ribbon at the top of the ornament’s head onto a branch of their tree. She reached inside the box, pulling out a red felt Christmas stocking with _Margarita_ written down the side. “And this?”

They worked through the box methodically, with each ornament revealing a tiny piece of Maggie’s story that Alex had not yet heard. By the end, it felt like something in Maggie had been cleansed by the experience; that by telling these tales, she was sharing pieces of herself that she hadn’t been able to before. But she was also, Alex sensed, reclaiming them. 

“So that’s why,” Maggie said, when the last ornament was back on the tree. “I’m secretly a Christmas whore, Danvers. I hope it isn’t a dealbreaker.”

“I’ll survive somehow,” Alex said, and Maggie barked out a laugh. Alex turned then, and drew Maggie around to face her. “I’m really glad you told me those stories,” she said, and then caught Maggie’s hand to press it, alongside her own, against her abdomen. “And I can’t wait for the day when you can tell them to our little girl.”

“That would be…” Maggie pulled in a ragged breath. “That _will_ be a really great day.”

“She probably won’t listen, though,” Alex pointed out. “Might even try to turn one of them into a weapon.” 

“Like mother, like daughter.” Maggie let out a gasp, startled, as their baby girl _— as Hannah —_ kicked hard against her hand. “She really is going to be a handful.”

“Yeah.” Alex curved her lips in a sly smile. “Sorry about that.” 

“Two of you,” Maggie said, with a wry mixture of weariness and adoration, and then leaned forward, pulling Alex into a hug. Alex drew her in close, stroking the back of Maggie’s head until Maggie, with a quiet sigh, pulled away.

“We never lit the menorah,” Maggie said, with a hint of guilt that Alex found incredibly endearing.

“I did,” Alex replied. “At Kara’s. I came home after it burned out.” 

“No ceiling fan?” Maggie teased, sitting back on her heels, and Alex, amused, snickered.

“Maybe a little cold breath.” Alex grinned at that, and then said, “No. We let it burn through.”

Maggie nodded, and then cast a remorseful glance at the unlit candles. “Still. I feel bad we didn’t do it tonight.”

“There’s still time.” Alex bent her knees to climb to her feet, but the bulk of her body got in her way, and she needed Maggie’s help to push through. “This kid is something, Babe.” 

“Sturdy like her mama,” Maggie said, and Alex, smirking, shot her wife a glare. Maggie was unrepentant though, and she pulled Alex against her, smiling. “I love you, you know.” 

_“Te amo,”_ Alex replied, and Maggie, blushing, smiled. And then she leaned down, reaching for the match that would light the first candle, and the taper after that.

“But first,” Alex said, and Maggie looked at her, startled.

“It’s getting late,” Maggie said, concern in her gaze. “Don’t you think we should at least get started?” 

“Not until you dance with me.” Alex pulled Maggie close, feeling the curves of Maggie’s body mold perfectly against her own, and murmured, “Please. Dance with me. “

“To what?” Maggie asked, and Alex picked up Maggie’s phone, and opened the playlist, and selected the song she wanted to play. 

_“Have yourself a merry little Christmas,”_ echoed through the room, that sultry, serene voice giving the words and almost plaintive meaning. 

“I knew you liked this song,” Maggie said, her tone almost accusatory, and Alex drew her in close, kissing her hard while they swayed against each other. 

“I like this _version,”_ Alex replied, and Maggie dropped her head back and let out a loud laugh. It was giddy and joyful, and Hannah, hearing it, kicked in delight.

“This version, huh?” Maggie grinned. “I’ll get you, Babe. I’ll get you yet.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex grumbled, and then fell quiet, letting the sound of the music and the warmth of Maggie’s body against hers draw her into that space that was theirs alone. That space that was safe, as nothing had been or ever would be.

“We’re all just lighting candles in the dark,” she murmured, and Maggie, confused, lifted her head from where it was resting against Alex’s forehead. She lifted one eyebrow in question and Alex, shaking her head, smiled.

“Just something Kara said to me,” Alex said, and twirled Maggie into a spin, before pulling her close again.

They lit the menorah later, and it burned till well after midnight. 

Maggie drifted off to sleep with her head in Alex’s lap and Alex’s fingers brushing through her hair.

**Author's Note:**

> TW for mention of past miscarriage, PTSD, homophobia
> 
> Christina Aguilera's version of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" is a shoutout to my friends in the Otalia/GL fandom. If you know, you know.


End file.
